


You're a Wizard, Henry

by Syrena_of_the_lake



Series: Forever and Always [1]
Category: Forever (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-01 13:18:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5207297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/pseuds/Syrena_of_the_lake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In all his years searching for a cure (failing that, a bloody explanation would be nice), Henry had always pictured something more scientific than, well, magic. "Don't say that to Hermione," warned Ron. "She'll launch straight into the lecture on Apparition-as-quantum mechanics."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. More curious or more deadly

“Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk."

― J.K. Rowling, _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_

 

At first, Henry was conscious only of an abominable pain at the base of his skull. It was as if the world's largest bass drum and an army of riveters were competing inside his head for top tooth-rattling decibel level, with a consolation prize for best reverberation. Now, Henry had always had a rather high opinion of riveters (Rosie may have had something to do with that, he acknowledged). The drums, on the other hand… Frankly, Henry had never much cared for the bass drum. Such a bombastic instrument. The timpani, though – _that_ was civilized percussion. Why, he once knew an orchestra conductor who sent his timpanist flowers after every performance and swore the sweet roll of the timpani held up the very roof over the hall. Granted, the man was utterly besotted; the timpanist was a lovely young thing, and quite a rarity in such a male-dominated profession –

Goodness, his head ached.

_Concussion_ , Henry noted. Clinically, he proceeded to take note of his other myriad conditions, starting with the crushed sternum and ending with the peculiar seeping cold that signified internal bleeding. The typical sort of blunt force trauma that might result from, say, driving one's car off a mountainside in the Scottish highlands in an attempt to avoid driving into a person who seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

Curious, that.

Even more curious: why wasn't Henry dead yet?

Gradually, voices filtered into his consciousness. What they said made very little sense, but one had to make allowances for the riveters.

"He looks like a Muggle to me," said a voice.

"Honestly, Ronald," a woman huffed. "What precisely does a Muggle look like? They no more look and dress alike than wizards do – you know that!"

"Actually, a lot of us do look alike, what with the inbreeding," said the man – Ronald – cheerfully. "And I know Muggles are a million times more diverse than wizards, Hermione. I _do_ listen to you occasionally, you know."

"Oh." The woman's voice was something between flustered and flattered. Henry recognized the tone, having been on the receiving end of it many times before. He'd always thought it was just him, but perhaps it was a universally feminine trait after all.

"Anyway, I meant his clothes. Muggle."

 "I don't know, Ron," interjected a new voice. "He looks like he stepped out of a 19th century painting. Or a history book. That says 'wizard' to me."

"But if he's a wizard, why isn't he reacting to the bone-knitting spell?" The woman's voice grew worried. Another all-too-familiar tone. "I'm afraid to move him until it does, but if it _doesn't_ …"

Henry wished he could reassure her that he would live through whatever experimental treatment she had devised, but he felt himself slipping away. The voices receded, and so did the drums.

Then his head broke the surface of the water.

"Bloody hell!" came a shout.

Henry had heard _that_ one before, too.

"Inferius!" That, however, was a new one.

Henry began swimming towards the three figures on the shore. He opened his mouth to call out to them, but the burst of fire reached him first. It engulfed him before he could even process what was happening. The water _boiled_.

Blackness. The sensation of being squeezed. Glimpses of the past, and then –

– his head broke the surface of the water. Again.

"Wait!" he spluttered. "Don't fire!" Never had he meant a pun less humorously. Henry prayed the lunatic with the flamethrower would let him explain, or would at least let him live long enough to concoct a vaguely credible story.

Instead, a jet of red light sped towards him and he lost consciousness knowing the waves would soon swallow him.

* * *

 

" _Honestly_ , Ronald." Hermione huffed, but beneath the exasperation her voice still trembled with the aftershocks of fear. Harry's stories of Inferi had given her nightmares for _years_. 

Ron kept his wand trained on the unconscious man. "Naked undead bloke pops out of a lake. It's a reasonable reflex," he snapped. He took one look at his wife's pale face and immediately regretted his tone. "Sorry."

She shook her head. "No, you're right. But it's clear he's no Inferius. Harry, don't you – Harry, what _are_ you doing?"

Harry had been prowling around the man, muttering incantations and shaking his head over the results. Belatedly he conjured a blanket. "No Dark signatures."

"That's good," said Ron slowly. "I sense a 'but' coming."

"There's no magical signature at all."

Hermione's eyebrows rose. "Impossible."

Harry shrugged. "See for yourself."

Hermione made a beeline for the prone figure. She knelt beside him on the shifting rocks and began a series of diagnostic spells.

Harry moved to stand next to Ron. "Have you ever heard of anything like this?"

"Aside from you, mate? Never." The pair were silent for a long moment. "You don't suppose he has…" ventured Ron before trailing off uncertainly.

"A Horcrux?" finished Harry in a grim voice. "If he does, it's different than any other one we've seen."

Ron grunted. "Old Moldie Voldie never showed up naked in the lake at Hogwarts, did he?"

A snort came from Hermione's direction, but she made no other contribution to the conversation.

Harry shrugged uneasily. "I guess that's out, then."

"… Maybe he _is_ a Horcrux," muttered Ron darkly.

"He can't be," protested Harry. "I'd know – I'd feel it."

"Would you?" Hermione rose from her crouch. "If a Horcrux were splintered from a different soul, would the resonance affect you at all?"

Harry frowned. "You mean I couldn't sense any Horcrux other than Voldemort's?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "It's just a theory. We haven't exactly run across any others to test it on."

"So how do we prove he's not a Horcrux?" Ron asked, jerking a thumb at the man. He frowned. Even unconscious, the figure was shivering. Ron cast a warming charm on the blanket, and Hermione smiled gently at him.

"It's hard to prove a negative," she said in answer to his question. "But coming back from the dead seems awfully Dark, doesn't it?"

 Harry raised an eyebrow. "… _I_ came back from the dead, Hermione."

She blushed. "Well, yes. But that was different."

"Maybe _he's_ different."

Ron sighed heavily. "So, short of getting some basilisk venom into him, there's really no way to test this."

The three friends jumped when the man groaned and spoke. "I don't know what in the bloody hell a basilisk is, outside of Bullfinch's mythology, but at this point I'm all for it."

Silence reigned for a long moment.

"Told you he was a Muggle," Ron said with a triumphant grin.

* * *

"My name is Dr. Henry Morgan, and I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."

He didn't mean the lack of clothing – the blanket he'd been given was quite warm, and was more than he was used to having. But the woman misunderstood. "Oh!" she exclaimed, rummaging in a beaded bag. "I have just the thing! _Accio._ "

"Bless you," replied Henry automatically.

The men snorted with laughter, which Henry thought a little rude, but he was quickly distracted when the woman pulled out a knit jumper, trousers and trainers. Was her bag one of those vacuum-sealed, space-saving gadgets? How did she get the trainers to fit?

"I can explain," she said, blushing.

Funny, thought Henry. That was normally his line.

The woman then introduced herself as Hermione Granger-Weasley, waved a slender stick in an intricate pattern, and ducked into the tent that promptly appeared. It didn't unfold, inflate or expand. It just… _appeared_.

Henry blinked.

The black-haired man nudged him forward. "We'll explain," he repeated, "inside."

"After tea!" called Hermione. Her voice echoed oddly out from the tent and over the rocky shore.

"And cake?" The red-haired man disappeared into the tent.

 Henry gestured in hopeless bewilderment. "Who _are_ you people?"

"I'm Harry Potter," said the black-haired man with a rueful smile, as if that explained everything. "Come on inside. You look like you could do with a cuppa."

It was by far the most bizarre reaction Henry had ever seen from someone who had just witnessed his death and subsequent reappearance. _Twice_.

"Tea," echoed Henry. It was a single anchor of sanity in an exceedingly strange day. "Tea would be splendid."

Harry held the tent flap open for Henry to walk through. And then, for the second (or possibly third) time in his unusually long life, Dr. Henry Morgan's world was turned upside-down.  


	2. Oooh, look, a Blibbering Humdinger

“You can laugh! But people used to believe there were no such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!”   
― J.K. Rowling,  _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_

 

"Magic isn't real," said Henry automatically. "It's an illusion."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Harry, would you mind demonstrating?"

Harry held up a stick (… a stick?) and grinned. "What should I cast?"

"No, no, just sit still."

A look of alarm crossed the man's face (Henry refused to think of him as a wizard; there was simply _no such thing_ ). Hermione waved her… stick… and Harry flickered out of existence. In his place was a slightly ruffled looking black owl. It snapped its beak irritably.

Henry stared. The owl stared back.

"I don't think you'll win a staring contest with an owl, mate." Ron clapped Henry on the shoulder. "Trust me. I've tried."

The owl hooted. If Henry were at all inclined towards anthropomorphism, he would have said it was laughing. But of course that was ridiculous.

Hermione waved her wand and the bird was gone, a slightly ruffled looking Harry standing in its place.

"Illusion," repeated Henry weakly.

"Magic," the two wizards corrected him.

Hermione simply smiled. "Why don't you tell us your story, Dr. Morgan?"

Henry cleared his throat. "Henry, please. It's, ah, rather a long story." They looked at him expectantly. Henry sighed. "I received a letter about a month ago from a woman who somehow knew about my… condition."

"What condition is that?" asked Hermione, leaning forward.

"Well," he cleared his throat again, "I cannot precisely… die." His audience tensed. If they had been police officers, they likely would have reached for their guns. As it was, Henry noticed their grips on their – well, there was no help for it – their _wands_ had tightened. "That is, I _do_ die," he attempted to reassure them, "with rather alarming frequency of late. It just doesn't take." He shrugged helplessly.

"What the hell do you mean, 'it doesn't take'?" asked Ron, clearly on edge.

The same old panic seared through Henry's chest. They didn't believe him. Even after having seen him die and reappear, even believing in magic themselves…

Hermione peered worriedly at Henry. "He didn't mean it like that," she said. "It's just that we've come across something like this before," she explained apologetically. "It was very Dark magic – evil, you might say."

"Wizards have done terrible deeds seeking immortality," added Harry.

"I didn't seek this!" Henry ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. "My condition is strictly involuntary, I assure you.  I don't know how it happened, or why. I was first shot and killed in…" In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought. "… in 1814. Something happened to me – I survived – and now every time I die, I come back. Always unharmed,  always in the nearest body of water, always the same age."

Ron relaxed his grip on his wand. "Always naked?"

Henry tugged at his collar. "That too. Speaking of which, I'd like to thank you for the clothes. Where did you…?" He looked at their smiles and sighed. "Don't tell me. Magic."

"Do you have a better explanation for your own condition?" asked Harry gently.

"I have spent two centuries looking for a _scientific_ explanation," he retorted.

Hermione shook her head so vigorously that tendrils of hair escaped her braid. "But magic _is_ scientific!" she said earnestly.

Ron groaned. "Now you've done it."

Hermione ignored him. "Do you know about particle physics?" Henry nodded hesitantly. He had tried to stay current with all the major scientific publications, although some of it was quite over his head. "Magic can be seen as the manipulation of matter on a subatomic level. It does obey the laws of physics, albeit perhaps in a slightly different way than you're used to. For example, matter can neither be created nor destroyed, but it can be _transformed_ , and the energy _transferred_ via use of a wand. I won't go into the entire theory of magic –"

"Thank Merlin," muttered Ron.

"– at least not at the moment," she finished with a glare at her husband. "But I'd be happy to lend you some publications and tomes if you wish."

Henry felt his pulse quicken. Even after all these years, the promise of new knowledge still excited him. He hoped it always would. "Thank you," he said sincerely.  

"You'll want to talk to our friend Luna as well," Hermione continued. Henry jerked, startled. "We're here to meet her, you see, and… what is it?"

"Luna Lovegood?" Henry asked cautiously.

Ron laughed in disbelief. "You know Luna? I should have guessed! She knows every nutter from here to the Pacific coast. No offense," he added belatedly. Hermione huffed in exasperation.

"None taken. I'm here to meet her myself, actually," explained Henry – likely proving Ron's point, he thought. "She is the person who wrote to me. Frightened me half to death when I got her letter," he recalled with a grin, "but I could hardly turn down an opportunity to meet with her. What I don't understand is what she's doing out here in the middle of nowhere."

"She's looking for the Loch Ness monster," said Harry.

Henry laughed.

"I'm afraid he's serious," said Hermione ruefully. "Luna has a lot of… interests."

"And I'm one of them," guessed Henry. "What exactly does she do?"

Ron shrugged. "No one knows, do they?" At Henry's strange look, he elaborated. "She works for the Department of Mysteries."

"I think I begin to see where I come in," Henry said with a self-deprecating smile. "I suppose that makes me her latest pet project."

For some reason, his phrasing made the three young – wizards? witches? Henry wondered what the gender-neutral plural pronoun would be. In any case, his new young friends were trying and failing to stifle giggles.

"Luna has a lot of, um, _pet_ projects," Harry's explanation dissolved into laughter. 

Ron guffawed. "More like a menagerie."

Henry raised a polite eyebrow. Before he could enquire further, another young woman bounced into the tent. Leaves were caught in her long blonde hair, along with what looked like a radish. Upon closer examination, the radish turned out to be an earring, which only heightened Henry's confusion.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Henry, this is Luna Lovegood."

Henry tried not to stare. _This_ was the brilliant researcher he had come all this way to see? This rather dazed-looking young woman with leaves and radishes in her hair?

"Er, hello," he said.

"Hello, Methuselah," she said in a dreamy voice. Her eyes drifted to focus on a point several inches to Henry's left. He half-turned, but there was nothing there.

"I'm Dr. Henry Morgan," Henry said awkwardly.

Her gaze snapped back to him and smiled impishly. "I know. I was talking to Methuselah. I'm afraid it was rather rude of me, but he never stays long. Anyway, it's nice to meet you, Dr. Henry Morgan. You really don't look a day over 200."

Henry found himself lost for words. He had a feeling that somewhere, someone was laughing at him.

* * *

Harry had a hard time not laughing at the look on the doctor's face.

"I'm so glad you found each other!" Luna clapped her hands in delight. Ron's ears turned pink and they all carefully avoided discussing exactly _how_ they had come to meet. Vehicular manslaughter, however temporary, did not make a good conversation starter. However, Harry had the sneaking suspicion that Luna knew anyway and was just humoring them.

He had that feeling about her a lot, actually.

"I hope you had a good trip," Luna said, absently twirling a strand of dirty blonde hair. "Personally, I try to avoid the roads this time of year. They can be rather treacherous, what with the Wrackspurt migration."

 _Wrackspurt_? mouthed Henry.

"Just go with it," Harry whispered to him.

The doctor shrugged slightly. "I don't believe I've ever seen a Wrackspurt," Henry said.

Luna's eyes grew impossibly larger. "Oh, but you wouldn't! They're invisible. Wrackspurts live in your brain and make your thinking all fuzzy. It's too early to tell if you've been infested, of course, but in your case I'm hopeful." She beamed. "They do seem drawn to particular individuals – they were highly concentrated around Harry when we were younger."

Harry glared at Ron as his best friend had a suspicious coughing fit. Hermione bit her lip and turned away to fuss with the teapot.

"He still gets the odd stray," commented Luna, "but on the whole he's much better now."

Hermione's shoulders were shaking.

"That's, er, good," offered Henry hesitantly.

Beatific, Luna smiled at him. "Yes, I think so too. Some people do seem to love their Wrackspurts, though. Maybe I'll try to domesticate one someday."

Hermione set the teapot down with unnecessary force. "Tea's ready," she said loudly. "So, Luna, how does Dr. Morgan figure into your project?"

Luna sipped her tea demurely. "I think it's more the other way around. Our research intersected, and I think he'll want my help."

"With what?" asked Harry, looking at Henry. The older man shook his head in confusion.

"Figuring out how to die, of course," said Luna.

Harry winced at the look of pity on Hermione's face – and the shock on Ron's. Losing a brother in the war had made his friend keenly, fiercely aware of how short life could be. As empathetic as he could sometimes be, Ron would never truly understand the idea of a death wish.

But Harry sensed that Henry Morgan was not a man who wanted to die, not really. Harry had seen a healthy fear of death on the older man's face from the shore, just before he died for the second time in as many minutes.  No, here was a man who sought to end a curse that had hung over his head, governing his every act for most of his life – to _finish_ it, whatever the outcome – and that, Harry could understand. 

"Let's take a walk," he said.


	3. The phoenix or the flame

“Which came first, the phoenix or the flame?'  
'Hmm . . . What do you think, Harry?' said Luna, looking thoughtful.  
[…] 'What if you get it wrong?'  
'Well, you have to wait for somebody who gets it right,' said Luna. 'That way you learn, you see?'  
'Yeah . . . Trouble is, we can’t really afford to wait for anyone else, Luna.'  
'No, I see what you mean,' said Luna seriously. 'Well then, I think the answer is that a circle has no beginning.'  
'Well reasoned,' said the voice, and the door swung open.”   
― J.K. Rowling,  _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_

 

Harry motioned for Henry to follow him outside. As he let the tent flap fall shut, Harry saw Hermione reach for Ron's hand as Luna began speaking in a low, urgent voice.

The two men walked away from the tent, away from the dark waters of the loch, until they came upon a little mountain stream curving between two steep-sloped rocky hills. A few sheep watched their passage. Inconstant winds buffeted them about and shook the gorse bushes. Henry hunched his shoulders, and Harry conjured a scarf for him. The doctor took it gratefully but without saying a word.

"Do you have children?" asked Harry, searching for a place to start.

"I have a son," the older man said after a long pause.

"I have three – two boys, one girl. Every day I think one of them will give me a heart attack."

Henry chuckled. "How old are they?"

"James, my oldest, is 12. He's in his second year at Hogwarts."

"Hog–?"

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Ah." Henry's unfocused gaze wandered across the windswept landscape. "My son is 70 years old."

Harry drew in a slow breath. That explained a lot. "Witches and wizards live longer than Muggles – non-magic folk, that is. But 70 years is a lot longer than any of us can rightly expect to have with our kids. Most people would say you're a lucky man, Dr. Morgan."

Henry laughed softly, but there was no mirth in his voice. "I will outlive everyone I've ever loved. Tell me how that is fortunate."

Harry scuffed his shoe against a rock. "I was cursed when I was a baby," he said in a low voice. "My parents died to save me. Long story short, I had to die in order to save everybody else." The words came out in a rush. So few people knew the truth, but here was one person – maybe _the_ one person – who could understand.

"Yet here you are," said Henry. "Alive."

Harry nodded. "My mentor once said Death is the last great mystery." Harry wondered sometimes whether anyone could ever again be the master of Death, now that the Elder Wand was broken and the Deathly Hallows forever separated. He thought of his cloak, and of Henry, this strange man who was somehow veiled from death... "It shakes you," Harry continued suddenly, "when you expect it. Accept it, even. Death, I mean. And then you come out the other side like… like walking through a veil in a doorway, only there's no other side and you're just... still there." Even after all this time, Harry struggled to put his experience into words. He'd told Ron and Hermione and Ginny, of course, about meeting Dumbledore in the blindingly white King's Cross station after he'd died.

But Harry had only ever spoken about the Veil with Luna.

"For me, it's like being squeezed through a tube," offered Henry. "I see flashes of the past – a ship in a storm, a baby crying… and I don't even know whether the baby is my son or myself. And I can't breathe. It's like being underwater, your lungs burning, and all your being is striving for oxygen even though you _know_ , viscerally, that if you allow yourself to breathe, you'll die… And then, suddenly, I _am_ in the water, just breaching the surface."

"The first time it happened… did you drown?"

Henry frowned. "I was shot. Here," he rubbed his chest absently. "And tossed overboard. I'm actually not sure which killed me first – the musketball or the water."

Harry swallowed. Put that way, _Avada Kedavra_ was practically merciful. But there was something else, something Henry had said earlier… Something familiar. "You said that dying feels like being squeezed through a tube?"

The doctor nodded.

"That sounds like Apparating," mumbled Harry.

"I'm sorry?"

"We should go back," Harry said apologetically. "Hermione and Luna should hear this."

Fortunately, the atmosphere in the tent had calmed down considerably by the time Harry and Henry returned.

"I think he Apparates," announced Harry.

Ron's eyebrows drew together. "I thought we'd concluded Muggle."

Luna's eyes lit up. "Involuntary Apparition? Ooh, how interesting!"

Henry raised a hand. "What exactly is Apparating?"

"Definitely Muggle," muttered Ron.

"Apparition," began Hermione, "is an act of individual, near-instantaneous magical transportation, produced by a dual mental and magical focus on the part of the witch or wizard travelling."

"Bloody three Ds," muttered Ron. "And bloody eyebrows."

Harry took pity on Henry. "It's basically teleportation," he explained.

Hermione shook her head. "Not exactly… it's more like quantum computing. Are you familiar with it?" Henry shook his head mutely, but Hermione was already launching into an explanation. "It starts with the theory of quantum entanglement, in which the quantum states of two particles are hypothesized to remain connected, or entangled, regardless of the spatial distance between them. In effect, an action performed to one particle would affect the other, meaning–"

"Spooky action at a distance," interrupted Luna. "That's what Einstein said."

"He always was charmingly vernacular, for a physicist," reminisced Henry. The others stared at him, except for Luna, who stared at the lamp.

"Do you think we exist simultaneously in other states?" she mused.

"What, like alternate universes?" Ron shook his head. "I don't know, Luna, but haven't we got a tough enough job figuring out this one?"

"You're quite right, Ron." Luna's protuberant eyes focused on him for a moment before fixing their gaze firmly on Henry. "One mystery at a time."

Hermione looked slightly disappointed, but she Summoned a quill and parchment gamely enough. "Symptoms or disease?" she asked Luna. She had a predatory gleam in her eye that always heralded a marathon research session.

Henry leaned forward in his seat. In his place, Harry would have been nervous. But the doctor seemed eager, even excited. Harry shook his head. There was no accounting for taste.

"Disease first, I think," answered Luna. "I've always liked chickens better than eggs, myself. Or is it the other way around?"

Ron and Harry backed a polite distance away and settled down to watch the fun. "Are they really talking about immortality like a disease?" whispered Ron. Harry shrugged.

Then the Inquisition began.

"Have you ever met a man by the name of, or descended from, Nicholas Flamel?"

"Have you ever experienced involuntary Apparition under any circumstances other than death?"

"Have you ever used a Time Turner?"

"Have you ever had dealings with a unicorn?"

"Phoenix?"

"Blibbering Humdinger?" That was Luna, of course.

Hermione actually waited for an answer and made a corresponding tick on her parchment before moving on. Harry couldn't help but marvel at the degree of collaboration between the two witches. Once, Hermione would have objected to the very mention of an apparently imaginary creature. Of course, they had all seen a great deal since then, and now they were confronted with the mystery of an immortal Muggle, of all things.

Harry supposed that an irrational belief in Blibbering Humdingers didn't seem so threatening after one had killed a Horcrux or two.

"Were your parents magical?" asked Hermione.

Henry shook his head. "Not so far as I know. I never believed in magic until today. To be quite honest, I'm still having a hard time believing it, even though the evidence is rather irrefutable."

Luna hummed. "Some beliefs are hard to shake. Most people still don't believe in the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, you know, despite the breeding program in Sweden."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Have you ever done genealogical research?"

"My son has. I don't remember many details before, oh, the early 1700s."

"I've done a little research myself," said Luna modestly. "Are you related to a Mrs. Eurphorbia Hopwood Fairlie?"

"The name sounds familiar…"

Ron leaned over to whisper in Harry's ear. "Sounds like one of Aunt Muriel's bridge partners."

Henry frowned. "She was my great-great… I think there's another one… great-grandmother."

Harry snickered. "I think she _is_ one of your Aunt Muriel's bridge partners."

Luna tucked her wand behind her ear. "She was a witch," she said calmly.  

* * *

After that, Hermione took the reins of the investigation firmly in hand. They visited the Hogwarts Library, which was governed by a rather terrifying librarian who was most reluctant to let him borrow so much as a quill. She only relented after much persuasion from Hermione - and after extracting an alarming promise from Henry not to die while holding a Hogwarts Library book.

They met with the apparently sentient portrait of the old headmaster, who was quite possibly older than Henry; they examined Henry's memories of his first death using a silver platter that generated some kind of virtual reality; and Henry underwent a myriad of tests, both potions and spells, only one of which killed him.

On a related note, there was a giant squid in the lake. _At a school._

Finally, Luna and Henry disappeared into the bowels of the Ministry of Magic for a few days. All he would ever say about the experience was that he had never met so many people stranger than himself.

Henry was used to dead ends. He wasn't used to having so many _possibilities_. It was overwhelming. And this wasn't a problem that could be solved overnight. He had to work at being patient. (At 235 years old, he really should be better at patience, and he said as much to Luna. She suggested making it a life goal. There wasn't even a hint of irony in her voice.)

After two weeks, Henry reluctantly took leave of his new friends, his mind whirling with information. He would return to Scotland, of that he had no doubt. First, though, there was so much reading to do in order to get up to speed on this new world of magic. And yes, a part of his 18th century, scientific soul still quailed at the word, but he had quickly learned not to say so around Hermione unless he had an hour or more available for a lecture. (He nearly always did. Hermione's lectures were fascinating.)

In the meantime, Luna and Hermione would be working together and had promised to keep Henry in the loop by something called Owl Post. He had never heard of the company before; perhaps it was like DHL. 

But it was time – for now – to return to his life in New York City.

Henry was just entering the security line at Heathrow when Luna found him.

"Can I go with you?" she asked.

"Ah," stuttered Henry. He stepped back out of line, still holding his shoes in one hand. "Er, why?"

"I think it would help to run more diagnostic spells in your daily environment. And I've always wondered what one would do with eternal life."

"I work in a morgue," said Henry inanely.

Luna, of course, wasn't fazed. "I don't think death is something that can be learned by osmosis, but I'm sure it was worth a try."

Henry's own laugh caught him by surprise. God help him, but he was starting to like the odd young woman. He should take her to New York, he thought, if only to introduce her to Lucas.

On second thought, the city might implode if that happened.

"Of course you can," he found himself saying. "My son and I have a spare room, and you'd be most welcome there. You can work in my laboratory," he offered. How odd it would be to have someone other than family in the house, with no need to keep secrets. And how refreshing!

"Do you mind if I bring a pet?"

Henry balked. "Ah, no, I'm afraid that wouldn't be a good idea," he temporized. "New York has a lot of regulations, you see, and Abe – my son – he runs an antiques shop with many breakable items, and between the two of us we have more than a few allergies…"

Luna shrugged. "That's all right. Methuselah doesn't really like travelling very much." Then she brightened. "Maybe I'll catch a Wrackspurt! Do you think there are any in New York?"

"Invisible creatures muddling up people's brains? I think there might be a few."

* * *

Henry's homecoming to New York was rather anticlimactic. He was not returning with a cure or even the promise of a cure. He had found only more questions, more avenues of investigation. That alone, however, was cause for hope.

Henry hadn't allowed himself to hope in a very long time. It was a wonderful, liberating feeling.

"Drat!" said Luna.

Henry looked at her in alarm. "What?"

"You just lost a Wrackspurt, and I wasn't fast enough. I missed my chance to catch it," she explained with disappointment.

Smiling fondly, Henry guided her off the subway. "Don't worry. I'll introduce you to my friend Lucas. I think he's likely to have a few extra Wrackspurts buzzing about."

"Really? How wonderful."

"Luna… may I ask you a question?"

"Of course! And you can ask your next question, too."

Henry lowered his voice. "Who or what is Methuselah?"

"He's whatever you want him to be," she answered with a little smile. "That's the beauty of an imaginary friend."

Henry shook his head, baffled. "Imaginary? But… you said he never stays long."

"You have a very good memory. He never stays long because my imagination gets distracted."

That sounded plausible enough. "Have you, er, known him long?"

Luna nodded happily. "Oh yes. Methuselah and I were quite close as children. We don't see each other as often anymore. I suppose I don’t need him as much now that I have friends."

Henry could well imagine the loneliness she must have suffered as a young girl. Abe would probably tell him he had much to learn from her.

"Well, I for one am glad to be your friend, Miss Luna Lovegood."

Luna smiled brilliantly and held on to Henry's arm even as she began skipping down the tunnel.

 _Just go with it_. Harry Potter's advice echoed in Henry's memory. He shrugged and began – not skipping, precisely, but lengthening his stride to match Luna's, and incorporating a bit of a hitch every other footstep.

A few tourists stared, but the New Yorkers uniformly ignored them.

Henry couldn't help but laugh. It was good to be home.

* * *

_Two weeks later_

"So Henry," said Jo, nudging his arm. "You never did tell us much about your trip to England. Did you find anything interesting?"

Henry smiled to himself. "I did some family research," he offered.

"Any long-lost relatives?" asked Hanson. He plunked a round of beers on the table. Lucas trailed behind him bearing a bowl full of nuts.

"None living," said Henry with genuine regret. "But it turns out my great-grandmother's grandmother was a witch."

Jo and Hanson laughed.

"Cool!" enthused Lucas. "I have a great-aunt still living in Scotland. I'm going to visit her this summer, actually. I'm pretty stoked about it. It was Luna's idea... Thanks again for introducing us, Doc. She is _so cool."_ Lucas said this with the same reverence he normally reserved for zombies, extraterrestrial life and comic books - excuse me, graphic novels.

"Will Luna be accompanying you?" Henry asked casually. Jo shot him a look that he pretended not to see. Surely an old man could be forgiven for matchmaking once a century.

Lucas missed the undertone; he didn't even blush. "Yeah, she's going to show me Loch Ness – who knows, maybe we'll even find the monster!"

They all laughed, though Henry's chuckle sounded a bit weak to his own ears.

"So what's your great aunt's name?" asked Hanson.

"Minerva Mc-Something-or-other," Lucas mumbled, his mouth full of peanuts. "I don't know much about her, but she sounds pretty cool."

Despite what Abe thought, Henry did know how to keep his mouth shut, at least most of the time. On the other hand, he never could resist an inside joke. "I'm sure you'll have an absolutely _magical_ time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. Although Luna might say the end is really the beginning... Poor Henry - there are just no easy answers, not even with magic! (But wouldn't Hermione be horrified if that were the case?)


End file.
